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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759905">son of a preacher man</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychictantrums/pseuds/psychictantrums'>psychictantrums</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Multi, Neil is a missionary, Religion, Steve's dad is a preacher, and this has been hard to write but i want to do it anyway, because i grew up with a preacher for a grandfather, don't think there will be regular updates because there will not, this is going to take me a long time to write</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:22:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759905</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychictantrums/pseuds/psychictantrums</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's father is a preacher. Every year, Hawkins hosts a revival which attracts missionaries from all over the world. The Hargrove's have been coming into town every summer for as long as Steve can remember until without warning, for years, they just stop coming, no letters, no calls, no weird trinkets from distant lands with weird postage clogging up the mailbox. Steve takes it upon himself to pretend not to be bothered by it. And as suddenly as they disappeared, they popped right back up.</p><p>Steve takes it upon himself to continue to pretend not to be bothered by it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>son of a preacher man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i can't promise i'll finish it, but i can promise to try. im really bad at continuing things. sorry. hope you like it anyway and as always, leave what time it is where you are and what battery percentage the device you're using to read this is at. &lt;3</p><p>also, while the lyrics are the same, the vibe on Aretha Franklin's version of 'Son of a Preacher Man' is the version i listen to when i'm writing it. it's the kind of piano playing i'm used to from an apostolic church/the kind of church this fic will be based off of.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Billy Ray was a preacher’s son //</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>and when his daddy would visit he would come along</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law. The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve sighed as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He could hear his father in his study gearing up for the first day of revival. Every year -- every </span>
  <em>
    <span>single</span>
  </em>
  <span> year -- he always started with a sermon that could be summed up as ‘no fighting, no fucking, no drug, no alcohol, no fun’. It was almost annoying considering Steve knew the bible too and he knew that the whole beginning of that chapter of Galatians was talking about circumcision. He didn’t see what rambling about whether people were circumcised and following the law of god had to do with fits of rage or witchcraft, but then again, no one had ever said Steve Harrington was smart enough to dissect the word of god. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole ground floor smelled like bacon grease, cooling hot rollers, and a fog of Aquanet so thick he didn’t even need to spray his own hair. There were half a dozen ladies gathered in the kitchen with cups of coffee in their hands, tea towels covering the fronts of their pastel dresses in case a stray drop would fall and ruin the entire outfit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The outfits were something that always confused him. Sometimes his mother’s outfits would match entirely. Like today, she had Steve’s favorite dress on. The color had a name he could never remember, but Steve always called it the ‘after dinner mint’ dress because it was the same soft shade of green as the mints they had in the offices at the church. She had a tiny hat (that shouldn’t even be classified as a hat because she had to pin it in place and he was pretty sure a hat was supposed to be something that fit on your whole head) and heels that matched the color exactly. But sometimes, she would have a dress with a gaudy print of flowers or paisley or something and instead of going with the main color of the dress, she would pick one of the colors that is barely even on there and her purse, hat and shoes would match with just that one particular color. Every time he asked her about it, she just shushed him and sent him on his way like the secret to a woman’s wardrobe was essential to their entire existence.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He skipped the good bit again,” Steve said to his mother as he leaned his arms against the top bar leading into the kitchen. The middle of it was beginning to wear a little bit. After all these years of potlucks, holiday parties, funerals, birthdays, revivals and every other event known to man, that counter had seen more food come and go than any restaurant in town, he was sure of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Steven, your father does not skip bits,” he heard a woman say in a tone that suggested he just said the most scandalous thing she had ever heard in her entire life. That was a hag called Donna and Steve was pretty sure she knew all about whether or not his father skipped bits.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve couldn’t help but snort even though he wasn’t happy with the look his mother sent him, warm eyes turning cold for half a second. It was the first day of revival after all. Seven straight days of services and he couldn’t act up on the first day or he would never make it through. “For you have been called to live in freedom. But don’t use your freedom to… uh...  satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love. For that… for the whole law can be summed up in this one command: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ But if you are always biting and devouring one another, watch out. Beware of destroying one another.” He was even impressed that he got through the whole thing without flummoxing it too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A quick glance around the other pastel parishioners gathered in the kitchen told him they were just as surprised. He could’ve easily stopped there, but Donna was looking him right in the eye and he just couldn’t help himself. “That sounds a lot more important than ‘The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity, debauchery, jealousy, envy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>orgies</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’” He was paraphrasing now solely because the other examples didn’t exactly fit Donna’s sins, now did they? Of course, the last one he wasn’t sure of, but he wouldn’t put it past her. “If you live like that, you won’t get to heaven, you know. That’s what the bible says.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His mother’s mouth was fixed to say his name, but he felt his father’s hand clap down on his shoulder forcefully enough to get him to stop glaring at his mistress standing right next to his mother in her own kitchen. “Who’s skipping bits now, son?” His father’s voice boomed in his left ear, always a little too loud from years of shouting the scripture over the crying and shouting in tongues of his congregation to give the word to people who needed it; the ones who weren’t shouting or running the aisles, the ones who were sitting there on their hands, fighting against the will of god.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve’s lips turned up in a smile that would fool anyone. “I couldn’t give them your whole sermon before you got a chance to give it.” His grandfather always told him he would have made one heck of a worldly man; sharp tongue, quick wit, dim everywhere else. It was an insult, but he didn’t mind. It was true. He could get away with anything he wanted to just by opening his mouth. “I’m certainly not one to steal your thunder.” The phone rang right then, giving the ladies a visible start. “Hey! No one spilled anything!” he cheered after a glance at the tea towels shielding the women’s dresses, clapping as he slipped out of his father’s grip and started to the door, grabbing his keys and the hip-high stack of foil pans full of food for the lunch after service. “Don’t be late!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>/\ \/ /\</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy Hargrove was nervous. Four years. It had been four years since he had been in Hawkins, Indiana. Four very long years. He didn’t like to think about it while he was gone. Neil had been extra keen on traveling after Billy’s fourteenth birthday so keeping up with writing letters was nearly impossible. By the time he got settled in enough to have substance to the letters he would send out, they were in a new spot and any reply he might have gotten would be left in the last country they were in. When Billy was younger, they would stay in the more civilized countries. It sounded terrible --  made Billy </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> terrible --  but he missed those countries now. Not because he was disgusted with the living conditions and definitely not because he was a racist or anything like that. It broke his heart being there with all of the people who were starving and dying and homeless and less than half the weight they should be at just to actually survive. And he couldn’t do anything about it. He could build them shelters and he could spread the gospel, but what was the point? There was no way god was cruel enough not to let these people into heaven just because they hadn’t been steeped in Christianity. It would go against everything Billy believed in if that were the case.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, the last destination his father decided to stay longer than he normally did these days. A two week stop turned into a month, and another, and another and then they had been in Ethiopia for a year and Billy had seen so much pain and suffering in that time. But he also had such a good time getting to know everyone and doing everything he could to help. He had developed a tan so deep that his skin looked like gold, his muscles were well defined from chopping wood and building houses from it, his hair had turned blonde since the last time they hit the revival circuit. Vanity was a sin, he knew it was, but he couldn’t help it. He was hot now. He had always been a slightly chubby boy with a round face and just a little too much chunk everywhere else, but now? He could’ve been a model if he had been born into a worldly family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only reason Neil decided to stay so long was one of the other missionaries stationed there: Susan Mayfield. A quiet, timid lady who truly didn’t have much of a reason to be in a place like that. She had her daughter with her. Max. She was something else. Strong, didn’t take any bullshit, she could shoot the shit with him like they weren’t surrounded by infants dying in their mother’s arms. They had been lucky. They were in a part of Ethiopia that was better off than most of the country. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to handle that. He was glad to have Max even if it meant he had to have Susan too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy had known about Neil’s plans to go back to Hawkins for the revival from Max. Neil wasn’t going to tell him until they were packing to leave, but Billy knew for months before that. He was going to marry Susan. That week would be a chance for them to reconnect with the states while they decided where they wanted to go next. He hated that more than anything. Not the marriage, but the fact that Susan had a say in anything. Neil never asked Billy where he wanted to go or if he even wanted to spend all of his time doing manual labor while Neil was inside the only air conditioned building in the city, praying for people and preparing for his sermons. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He had never had a mom before and Susan sure as hell was not going to be his mother, but he hoped it was going to be okay. Whatever happened, he knew it wasn’t going to be smooth sailing. It wasn’t smooth sailing now. Even in the middle of a starving country, his father still couldn’t keep his hands off of his kid. It made him furious because he was there trying to get people to convert to Christianity and accept the word of god and all that jazz, but he banged the first white woman he saw in Africa and decided to marry her in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> place in the entire world that Billy had overwhelmingly wonderful memories. He did it on purpose of course. Neil loved it when Billy was unhappy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of that mattered after they landed in Indianapolis airport. He was back and in the flesh this time. But Neil was running late. On purpose. That fucking bastard. Instead of coming in the night before like they always did when coming in for revivals, getting dinner with the family and settling in at the motel, their flight landed before the sun rose on that Sunday morning. They had just arrived just in time to shower at the airport and change into their church clothes and began the hour and a half drive to Hawkins. They would make it to church right on time but that also meant they wouldn’t have time to chat with anyone before and that their clothes would be a bit wrinkled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It also meant that they weren’t going to have any time to chat with anyone before church and it seemed like a very small thing to Susan and Max, but Billy knew the real reason. It was just to keep Billy’s time in Hawkins to an absolute minimum. He knew every chance Neil had to get Billy to do something away from Steve, he was going to take it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil hated Steve because he was nice to Billy. For as long as he could remember, the first week of May was spent in Indiana with the Harrington family. John and Sabina’s son was a year older than Billy, but he was also grossly immature and that had always made Billy seem like the older one. The thing was, Steve had never done anything to warrant the hate Neil held in his heart for the boy. As the son of two people Neil actually seemed to genuinely like, it would make sense for the boy to have more favor in Neil’s eyes than his own son. He didn’t though. He hated Steve in a way Billy couldn’t wrap his head around as they were growing up. Steve never made one single misstep around Neil or even Billy for that matter. They weren’t anything more than good friends. It was nothing like what his father thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That last part was true until the last night of the last time he got to call Indiana his home for a week. The trees behind the Harrington estate were always full and thick with newly grown leaves finally reaching their full potential, it meant the treehouse they stumbled upon when exploring at 7 and 8 was completely hidden from the rest of the world. It was supported by two smaller trees whose leaves grew to cover the floor and two sides of the treehouse that were facing towards the Harrington estate, the other two walls had a small window in the center and the hatch in the floor was always needing to be pruned around to be able to enter. No one would ever think anyone was in there. It was the best place for them to get away from everyone else, to be alone, to be themselves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>/\ \/ /\</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve was seven the first time he recalled seeing Billy with his own memory. Billy had been coming to church with his dad for a long time according to Steve’s parents, but Steve remembered that the first time he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed</span>
  </em>
  <span> the blonde had been on the first day of revival when Steve was seven and Billy was six.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The church basement was mostly open. At the bottom of the stairs, to the right was a small, thin door  and then long opening that showed into the small, wood paneled kitchen. It was empty -- save for stacks of casserole dishes -- for now, but Steve knew that his mom would be coming down about twenty minutes before the sermon was over to get the food heated up and ready for everyone to eat. There were a couple more doors after the opening; a class room, a closet and a second much smaller classroom that ended up being used exclusively for folding chair and table storage. The back wall held a door that led outside and three small windows high up on the ceiling showing just how deep underground they were. The rest of the space was open save for a few load bearing poles scattered around that everyone just ignored just like they ignored adultery and bold-faced lies. The wall opposite the kitchen held more classrooms and closer to that wall than the entrance way was a small, square pool for baptising that was barely big enough for one person to stand up and one person to be dipped in the anointed water. The whole pool was an ugly shade of blue called ‘moon landing’. He remembered the name because it wasn’t until much, much later in life that he was told that the moon landing wasn’t for finding the exact color of the moon, which apparently was gray, but at seven years old, who could blame him for thinking such a thing?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve remembered thinking about the color as the small blonde boy came closer and Steve could see that his eyes were a shade of blue Steve had never seen in his entire short life. Years and years later, Billy would tell Steve of how he remembered thinking Steve’s honey brown doe eyes would pop right out of his head the closer Billy  got and they laughed and laughed when they realized it was truly only because Steve thought Billy had the prettiest eyes out of anyone in the world and then he noticed how wet they seemed and how his bottom lip was going to tremble very soon if he didn’t get himself together. Steve had pulled himself together and grinned like the boy wasn’t almost in tears. He patted the empty seat next to him. Steve had the whole last row to himself so the boy didn’t have to worry about anyone else but Steve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you have really pretty eyes,” Steve whispered to the boy who looked at Steve like he had just said the boy had been abducted by aliens and would never see his parents again. “Oh, I’m Steve.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Boys aren’t pretty,” he corrected in a way that sounded too adult for a six year old. “Billy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve couldn’t help but raise a small eyebrow at Billy. “I happen to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty,” he decided. If his father had been around at that moment, he would’ve been whooped from one end of Hawkins to the other and back again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy’s lips curled up in a smile and he was missing one of his front teeth so when he smiled big like that, his tongue poked through the hole just a little bit, making what looked like a pink tooth instead of the pearly white ones he had already. “Yeah,” he agreed through a breath. “You are really pretty.”</span>
</p>
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